At Close of Day
by treneka
Summary: Because sometimes there is wisdom in refusing to understand. The ikkou has an unpleasant interlude on the road. Warning: major angst.


a/n: I'm having a rough night, so there is lots of angst and no redemption. My apologies. The last line is taken from Dylan Thomas' famous poem. So, for that matter, is the title.

**At Close of Day**

"Hakkai! Hakkai! I found one! This kid's still alive!" Goku's voice is eager, hopeful with an almost desperate edge. I cannot truly blame him. The past four days have seen us burying the dead at least once before each sunset, and it gets more depressing every time. The ground is cold and hard. Digging has been so difficult that the last time, I thought Sanzo was going to order us not to bother. I wouldn't mind; not to say that I mind burying them either, but leaving strangers exposed on the field is something I would feel hypocritical about, were I to pretend to care. Gojyo is likewise lackadaisical when it comes to this task. Physical labor on behalf of the dead does not rank high in his priorities. We do it for Goku, who seems disturbed by their eyes and their hands and the mocking near-humanity of the corpses. "She's still breathing, Hakkai!"

This latest scene is as tragic as the last. The remains of a family, or possibly two, lie scattered around an overturned wagon. Their bodies have been ripped to shreds. The faces that remain are twisted in fear and pain – desperately articulate in their silence. I noticed a severed hand still gripping the scythe one of the men had held against their attackers. There is blood on the blade, but no sign that it dealt a fatal blow. I'd been pondering the essential futility and helplessness embodied in this artifact when I heard Goku's cry and ran to his side.

The child cannot be more than four years old. Her eyes are glazed with half-frozen tears and her body is pinned beneath the wheel-less bulk of the forward axle. One arm is missing at the elbow. It is only the icy harshness of her environment that has saved her from bleeding out entirely. At a glance, I would never have guessed her to be any more viable than the headless torso lying motionless to her right, but Goku's senses are more acute than mine. I kneel beside him, leaning forward to place my ear against her chest.

The heart that beats within that breast has lost its rhythm. The minute pulse is sporadic, faint as a mouse's footsteps. The breath that wisps between her lips is cold and soft. My eye takes in the sight of her broken body, crushed at the pelvis by wood and iron, but I lay a hand against her stomach, searching for some spark of life worth saving. I can feel the weakening ebb of ki abandoning its host, and I know that to save her will take every iota of strength that I possess. Her soul is trying to leave this broken shell, this icy plain. I understand that wish. I've worn those shoes.

Beside me Goku is holding his breath. The power of his longing for this child's life is painful in its plainness. I look at him, false smile firmly fixed, then catch Sanzo's eye as the monk draws near. He sees it, what I cannot tell our young companion. The monk can sense the truth I dare not speak. I watch inevitability cloud his eyes, and we share an unspoken confidence. He cuffs Goku across the ear with his harisen.

"You're in the way. Go help Gojyo with the bodies." His words are gruff with pain-fueled, feigned irritation.

"But I found her..." and those golden eyes are swimming with pleas and hopes I don't want to see.

"Go. Help. Gojyo." Sanzo punctuates his order with that familiar paper fan, but we both know it's tough love more than anything. Goku walks away, rubbing the back of his head. The monk spares me one last look, then moves to follow. Whether he's giving me privacy or simply washing his metaphorical hands, I couldn't say.

The child is still dying as I turn my attention back to her. Her life is drifting away into the frosty air, but not fast enough. At this rate, she could linger for another hour at least, and I will not bury her alive. I will not bury her while she breathes, and yet to kill her... How strange that I once killed children every bit as young and fragile as she without a second thought. I killed them senselessly, despite their tear-streaked faces and pain-filled screams and utter, innocent pleas for survival. The broken doll before me neither cries nor begs. Her silent pain, if it had a wish, would likely ask for a mother already long gone – for an end to this lonely, hopeless epilogue of a life unwritten.

I cannot give her nurturing or love. They are not mine to offer. I cannot be the parents she has lost. I feel her life force fading still further, and know that even all my strength could not save her now. The final step is clear, but still I hesitate. It is not the look in her glassy eyes that stays me: it is the fearsome love and energy in Goku's. With an effort, I force the memory away. An ending is all that I can grant, and with the smallest strike of ki to a wavering heart, I grant it. The tiny, blood-speckled face relaxes. Relief flows through my very veins. Then I look up and see the earth child watching me.

His golden eyes see instantly the death I've given his hope. He turns away to dig, and never says a word.

I bury the girl. We all return to Jeep. The hush consumes us as the road moves on. In the rear-view mirror, I notice shining tears on sun-browned cheeks. For once, even the kappa does not tease him.

"She was too far gone. It happens." Sanzo's words are too sweet, but at least they are all the comment he ever makes. I feel the forgiving, consoling pressure of Gojyo's hand on my shoulder. These two offer absolution in their own ways, but my eyes keep straying to the mirror.

He is thinking only of the girl, of life that does not capitulate and hope that fights to bitter endings. Goku would never have accepted a peaceful death. Goku does not believe in realistic expectations or the so-called greater good. He would gladly take thirty seconds more of agony over instant sweet oblivion with the same unwavering certainty that won't let him forgive me now. We are very different creatures, he and I. Perhaps his greatest gift is the way he refuses to see that.

Emotions burn him up and wear him out. I know that soon, when I look in the mirror, the monkey king will lie boneless and thoughtless against Gojyo's shoulder. Time will steal this day from him, and his eyes will dance with merriment and hunger and a thousand mundane things. But for now, his eyes are damp, more loving in their unbending pain than a world of consolation.

_...Curse,  
bless me now  
with your fierce tears, I pray..._


End file.
